Where I Cannot Find You
by VDiscordia
Summary: A story that demanded me to write it... An alternate ending. What if Lockwood had to take in a ward? Her presence will change the lives of those around her. She is thrust into a world of secret histories and wounded souls.
1. Stumbled Beginnings

November, 1801

Valeria Lockwood

I miss him.

The moors frighten me. Never would I have ever thought a new locale could really frighten me, not since I was very young. But this place is as foreign to me as Hong Kong would be to a country scamp I would imagine to come out of an estate named _Thrushcross Grange _- my new place of residence. I refrain from using the word 'home', because I have never really had a home, and never wanted one. Father always used to say,_ 'You cannot build yourself a house without beginning to build your own deathbed.'_

I miss him. I cannot write it enough. Yet why can I not cry?

This fog is nothing like London fog. There is a scent in the air here that I have never smelled before. In my seventeen years of life and all of my travelling with my father, no city smelled anything like this.

Once, in Amsterdam, one of my father's associates told me about the fae that lived in the lands that laid north of England. He spoke of banshees and changelings in a drunken stupor, but I was a mere child of six and believed every word of it. Now I imagine that it must be fairy dust in the air that makes the fog so impenetrable, and soon the coach will be taken by a fawn, and perhaps I can outrun the fae and let them chase me all the way back to the ocean, where I can find the next boat out of this accursed country.

We were meant to travel to the Americas next year together. But the Revolt against the aristocracy in France led to his death. He felt he was fighting, not on either side, but trying to keep the peace as much as possible. If only we'd left when we were warned.

My daydream was merely that. No manner of fae or sprite in sight. We have arrived, and my uncle is waiting.


	2. Nelly Dean

AN: I understand that a lot of this does not line up correctly with the events of miss Bronte's novel. I have pushed forward the time that Lockwood moved into the Grange, and adjusted the timeline to other events to suit the story. I apologize if this offends anyone. The novel is almost sacred to me, so know that I what I do, I do with care. Thank you!

Oh, what a shamble this is! I actually became quite ill from the carriage ride. When I attempted to stand up, I refused my uncle's hand in aid and lost my balance. He and the housekeeper made such a fuss over me, but when I attempted to protest, I had found the contents of my breakfast on the green and soggy earth. I do believe I must have fainted after that, for I do not remember arriving in this room.

After my bath, Ellen, the housekeeper attempted to set my mind at ease. As she scrubbed and dressed me, her conversation tactics were warm but polite. Every time I tried to wash or dress myself, she would simply smile and continue her work. She seems used my kind of stubbornness, and there is something about her, as though I should not deny her.

"You poor creature." She sighed as she tugged the edges of a white nightgown around my wrists, and then my ankles, so there was hardly a wrinkle in the fabric. "We imagined you would be tired, child, but not so ill!" She pressed the back of her palm to my forehead and cheeks.

"I am fine, Mrs. Dean. Really."

"Aye, that is what you told the Master and me before losing your feet, my lady." She took my hand and guided me to the garish four-poster bed, all ivory and mahogany. "And you must get some rest, of course. Call me Nelly."

"Who's room is this, Nelly?" I slid beneath the covers after she pulled them back.

At the corners of her lips, the smile seemed to fade, but return again as she placed a tray of foul and potatoes on my lap. She then set to brushing my hair. "Why, it is your room, my lady."

"I am not very hungry." But her pause in brushing my hair made me cooperative again and as I picked up the fork, she continued. "Thank you. But I meant to ask who's room was it before me? I can tell it was once lived in. All these trinkets I suppose. It feels very much lived in. Whom did my Uncle purchase this estate from?" I then pushed some food into my mouth and chewed, sensing her impatience again. The food was bland and filling, much as I'd imagined it, but had learned long ago to never discuss food that had been cooked for you by another's hand.

"My, you have the loveliest dark hair. It looked almost red in the sunlight."

I remained calm, continuing to eat, too tired to press the matter further.

Then she surprised me. "It belonged to one of the Lintons." She set down the silver hair brush and took a seat on the stool next to the ivory vanity next to my bed. "She was a part of that family that no longer resides here at Thrushcross Grange."

Merely nodding in thanks for her answer, I found my eyes drifting shut, and when I opened them, the food was cleaned, Ellen gone, the lantern put out and nothing but the fireplace and moonlight making the room visible to me. A storm had arrived and was tearing across the moors. I found myself crawling out of the bed to look out on it.

There was a biting chill despite the fire, and I stood in front of the window, gazing out across the landscape. As I slid the drapery to the side, I thought I saw a figure moving in the distance, and perhaps lights even further away. I felt tempted suddenly to open the windows, despite the painful cold sinking into my feet, and wander outside to follow those lights, as if the faerie queen and king would have a feast ready for me there and I'd be taken into the Underground forever - but I turned my eyes away and told myself my imagination was getting out of hand.

I drew the curtains before scribbling the rest of these words into this journal.

My father bought me many empty books by the time I could start writing, but this is the very last. The rest are full of such adventures that I will surely publish them some day - but I cannot imagine this will be a very thrilling finale. I miss him.

Dreams have always been so easy for me to recall. Some people don't even have them. Sometimes I feel as though my dreams are indeed, 'having' me. I cherish them and wander at their meanings. I especially cling to the absurd fantasy that tends to theme them. I have always had that strange gift of recalling the strange and extraordinary whispers in the night.

This morning I could not remember a single thought or image in my mind that could have occurred between the time I laid down last night and am now awakening. Every time I think I find a place or a word, or perhaps even a face, they dissolve before I can make sense of them.

Nelly is back, thoughtfully trying to organize my wardrobe. I did not laugh when she asked how I could dress myself in "A single orange stack of silk, my lady? And with so many baubles and such..."

She 'tsk'ed and sympathetically folded my sari from India back into its case, deciding to place it with the scarves and hats at the top of my new closet. "Your fall clothes will not get you through this season in these parts, my dear, and the Master has most sternly impressed it upon us all to not let his niece fall ill." Though her face was in a bureau facing away from me, I could almost hear her lips purse disapprovingly at the sort of frocks I tended to wear. "Could you not have left some of your books behind and brought some longcoats or scarves?"

I couldn't help a small giggle as I started to walk towards her to choose my own dress for the chilly day.

"Fortunately..." She glowed. "I do believe this old wardrobe is just your size. A few minor adjustments this morning and you'll have something proper to wear" She sighed with relief as I attempted to conceal a wince.


	3. Keep Your Temper

It's been an hour now. How do these country English bare it? I'm glad to not wear a complete corset, but the half-boned stay is perhaps just only half as binding. I do not mind wearing corsets if there is occasion for it, and a gown to wear over it, but not all day. And then this shift on top! It's a mess of blue and white knitting's and white flounces at the elbow. Instead of the brown boots I had intended to wear, Ellen had intimated that my uncle should like to see me in house slippers today.

My tongue could not be held. "And where is the matter in that which he 'should like to see me'?" I laughed merrily, but the laugh turned to a nervous sigh when Mrs. Dean continued lifting my foot up by the ankle to slip the dainty things on.

"Miss, I shall not help you dress in the future if that is your wish." She wouldn't make eye contact with me. "However, your father's death has left Master Lockwood in quite a state. You are now his only living relative." She smiled that distant smile as she gently tightened the laces over my feet. "He does so wish for you to feel that this is truly your home now."

I held my tongue. All of my father's estate had gone to my uncle. Father, the eldest son, had tried so hard to leave his fortune to me early on in his life. When the lawyers turned him away again and again he'd finally said, tapping my chin. "Well my love, when you grow up I shall just have to marry you myself." The waitress at our table gave him a look as if he'd grown horns, and an even worse one at me when I laughed. No one really understood his humor, and when they did, they usually deigned his manner insulting.

Mrs. Dean asked me to be at the breakfast table by now. I am tearing off this horrid white hat, or some kind of thing. It's more like a limp cap for a mop or an overgrown doll of some kind. Oh and now I am beginning to hate myself for my own snobbery. Of course, only now I realize this dress once donned a woman who is certainly now dead, and here I am, insulting her way of life while stealing what she left behind.

It is with that feeling of wickedness that I take my seat, to the right, three places down from my uncle, where he had placed me. He glided through all the niceties of standing, smiling and nodding as I entered the room and Nelly pulled my seat back, but since then he has been hiding behind his novel. I do not blame him, of course. Whatever is to be said now will be the very first words spoken between us since ten Christmastides ago, and I was far to young to even notice him speaking to me. I think I shall put down my pen now and attempt to eat.

I can only go back and tell of what transpired in full to the best of my abilities, though to be truthful it was to begin just as dull as it was disconcerting, and would not warrant any use of ink and paper if I had only learned to keep my temper.

Uncle Lockwood, who happens to be not two-and-ten older than myself, seemed to fancy himself in such a position of power over me. When at last I had opened my mouth to compliment the choice of coffee rather than tea for breakfast (the most mild-mannered comment I could imagine at the time), he abruptly interrupted me mid-sentence.

"You are looking very pale, dear niece. I wonder, your last months in France were quite bleak and rainy, I imagine. And with your fall last night... should I call upon the doctor?"

I set down my cup and tilted my head gently. "Dearest Uncle, my last wish is for you to worry yourself so. If I am to be guest in your home-"

"Oh!" He interrupted once more. "Do not say 'guest', niece. This is your home, and I shall not have you thinking otherwise."

My smile was beginning to pain me. "If I am to live here..." I said slowly to correct myself. "I should wish to be very little trouble for you. Last night was due to the long ride from London, and I am not so used to this humid climate. Do not worry for my previous travels. France was quite warm this ending of the summer... the start of the fall." My voice broke at the end of my sentence and I turned back to try to eat more porridge. Father loved Paris in those months the best.

"No, I daresay you do not sound well." He shook his head dangerously as he buttered a slice of black bread. "Mrs. Dean, I would like today's eggs soft-boiled."

"I'll let the kitchens know, sir."

Seemingly, he mistook my reverie as an affliction of the throat.

"If I do not sound well, it is only due to my adjustment to the climate." I said it as smoothly and sincerely as I could, but I did not avoid another patronizing look. My impropriety in disagreeing with my new guardian did not escape either of us. Though I understand these rules, I have never in my life had to follow them.

The discomfort was thick as we continued to dine with no more interaction. I sipped at some creamed oats, trying to swallow them down, but finding it more than a little difficult in that room.

Without warning, my tone took on much gaiety when I spoke next, sending my rather pigeon-like uncle half way off of his seat. "I would very much like to tour the grounds this afternoon!" My eyes widened at him, and he seemed quite speechless, still swallowing down a bit of his egg. "Riding in I saw the vast countryside, and I must say I have never seen quite this much green all at once in all my life."

I stood up quickly, and he followed suit, nearly sending his chair flipping over.

"I... Well, I can have a horse ready for you, and a chauffeur of course." He wiped his mouth three times over, reminiscent to the holy trinity, sending me into a small fit of giggles.

Though it was clever for me to do so, disguising my giggles as a cough also gave him reason to deny me...

"No, I..." I forced a calm, but grinning face. "If I could, I only wanted to find a most propitious Glenn or tree to sit with and find the most promising light for reading. A horse and accompaniment would not-"

"Miss Valeria." He did not shout or even raise his voice, but in the way his facial expression darkened, he might as well have. "My good judgment tells me that you are in no condition to even be leaving this house. As much as I would adore to indulge you, I believe that you are in dire need of both rest and care."

For the first time I really looked at my uncle. He was not ugly or portly as my father had somehow inferred, but rather boyish in his appearance. I felt as though I were being scolded by a schoolmate who had caught me cheating in sums. His hair was the same warm blond, nearly brown as my father's, feathered at the temples, but not greying like his. He blinked multiple times when he realized I was looking at him with such alarm.

"I apologize." He slowly tossed his napkin upon the table. "I am to see our landlord this afternoon to tell him of your arrival." He began to walk away from the garish table to lean on a bookcase so he could read their labels rather than look at me. "You must think I only wish to keep you locked in this house for some purpose, but in fact my plans had been to take you riding with me today to meet him, and perhaps even ride into town to get you acquainted, but..."

"But you do." Something terrible overcame me. Oh, if only my temper weren't such as it is.. "You do wish to keep me locked up in this place. I am not ill! I am... I am imprisoned, not ill!" But the breathless way I spoke the last two words gave away my true state.

I found myself covering my eyes with my hands to hide from him. I knew I sounded like a child, not the young woman I attempted to be, only further proving his point. And what was more, I thought I might cry. But I could not cry. I hadn't cried at father's funeral, not even when the French police came to our flat to tell me they'd pulled him out of the river. If I started crying then, I would not be able to stop.

"You do not understand me, Valeria." He tried to speak gently and I heard him moving towards me. "Young people take ill in this part of the country with hardly a breath outside, especially those 'not used to the climate' as you put it. Even our landlord's son is soon to die of a terrible coughing fever. I could not put you at risk. I... I will not."

Swallowing back all of my tears that threatened to fall, I uncovered my face and began nodding slowly, gripping the back of my chair and staring at the table. "You know, you... you must be more wise than I would have given you credit for, and for that I am very sorry. I..." I forced a laugh. "I think I do feel rather unwell."

He passed me a handkerchief, only coming as close as he had to. He was afraid to touch me, let alone hug me.

He took on a cheery, but nervous countenance, pulling my seat back again and motioning for me to turn and sit in it once again, which I did. "When I return, I shall expect you and Mrs. Dean to have found many 'propitious spots with promising light' to read by... in the house, yes?"

We shared a nervous chuckle before he was off. "I shall send you regards to Mister Heathcliff and his kin." He tipped his top hat with the top of his walking stick. I waved with his handkerchief rather meekly and sighed as he left the room. Nelly stepped gingerly back into the room... or had she always been there?

I blinked and ate another spoonful of oats, then took a sip at my coffee. "What sort of name is... Heathcliff?"

Her airy sort of smile vanished for a second, but returned as it always did, like a ghost clinging to her face. I looked on her with suspicion, but she moved about in her way, and placed me back into bed before eleven, and I am now expected to nap until luncheon.

I may be weak now, but it is only the shock of this new place. They will not keep me tucked away in this tomb forever.


	4. Distance

It was to be learned early on in those early weeks within Thrushcross Grange to walk and speak quite differently, to allow a woman to fix my hair as she saw fit and find distractions amidst the library. Thirty days of residing in what was meant to be my home, and I'd only managed to catch my uncle at a handful of meals.

One luncheon of importance, Uncle Lockwood (who now insisted I call him Uncle Jack, or James - the latter which I could not, for it had been my father's name) had arrived with some tardiness. At the announcement of his arrival I slipped the novel I had been browsing beneath the cloth laid out in my lap. I had quite the mission of finding any novel that might stimulate my mind, and the lucky find of 'Voltaire' in the libraries was something I treasured and hoarded like a criminal.

"Ahhh, dear Neice." He seemed troubled as he straightened his lapels and folded up his sleeves. A number of the household help scurried in to serve him.

"Uncle." I responded with limited inflection as I returned to picking at the breast of another chicken sentenced to death that morning.

"I fear our visit to our landlord will be... ah... delayed." He lifted his finger to catch Nelly's attention. "Please draw me a bath, Mrs. Dean."

I could not help but bite back a sigh. It was the same vague cancellation every week. And on these particular evenings my uncle had the distinct aroma of wild dogs and mud all about him, which seemed to put himself at more diss-ease than it did anyone else.

"Is Mister Linton's health still in a poor state?"

"Oh, terribly so, neice. And it is kind of you to ask. I have great hopes for you to meet Mister and Missus Heathcliff. Missus Catherine Heathcliff, Linton's wife. And you are both of the same tender age and I have so desired for the two of you to meet by now."

I sipped at my tea delicately, trying to twitch my head as lightly as possible to get one of Nelly's flowered curls out from my face as I met eye-contact with my uncle. I set down the tea and lifted a handkerchief to my lips. "I have visited many invalid in my time, Uncle. Father was quite strict in our visits to the poor in all manners of safety. I may be young but I even have some basic medic training as a nurse, you know, and I..."

"Perhaps such things are best kept to the past."

I felt that familiar flame crawl up my cheeks. "Is Mister Linton receiving any medical attention at all?"

"But of course! Mister Heathcliff is a most honorable... if a bit misanthropic... man. I am sure he is doing all he can to look after his only son."

"Well..." I placed my tea down again and smiled. "Perhaps Mister Heathcliff would simply allow me to bring his son some herbal tea - some bread and soup? It would be a rather difficult offer to refuse and I could not help notice some fresh herbs growing wildly about these parts. From my window of course." That last sentence hadn't meant to be laced with such venom, but it would not come any other way.

Uncle began cutting into his dinner, avoiding my eyes. "Valeria, I do believe you may have a point there. Our solitary neighbors cannot keep us at bay forever." He smirked and took two small bites before staring out the window, indeed in the direction of Wuthering Heights. Something dark troubled his mind and even twisted his otherwise perfectly just handsome enough not to be improper face. Something had happened the night before to have kept him out even passed breakfast, but I knew that pressing on would not be prudent. Though my measurements of propriety are hardly monitored, in my ways of manipulation I knew that the more my uncle believed me to be rebellious, the closer and eye he would keep on me.

"In the meantime, I think your color has come back since your arrival and it is high-time I took you into church tomorrow morning, and perhaps into town."

I tried to contain my excitement but he certainly noticed the fluster in my seat.

"Could we invite Missus Linton Heathcliff, Uncle?"

"Ahh..." That same morose shadow overcame him again. "She hardly wishes to leave her husband's side, my dear, but... I will send an invitation before the night is out. I ah... I shall retire. It was good to eat with you, neice."

I bowed my head slightly as he left the table. I did a double-take to make sure he had gone before I retrieved my novel. The man had barely touched his food, proving more and more that these people at Wuthering Heights were causing him a great deal of stress. My curiosity was piqued more than ever before concerning our illusive neighbors.

'Candide, ou l'Optimisme' slipped back onto the table and I shoved my plate to the side so that I could find my place again. French was my third language, so some of the allegory was admittedly lost on me, but I more than managed. I imagined that an incredibly wealthy and educated family must have lived here before.

If someone happens upon this journal, take my advice and do not attend a sermon in the English countryside. I'll hardly go into the detail appropriate of a worthy cautionary tale, but believe me when I tell you that it is hardly bearable for the educated mind. The minister takes so many freedoms with his interpretation of that bible of his, and the people either hang on his every word, or spend the morning staring around, looking for new faces.

This morning there was only one new face, and therefor only one place for these folk to focus their attention. I kept my own sight drawn down to the scripture in my lap as much as possible, since I found neither the sermon nor the people around me very welcoming. As the man ranted of hellfire, I read of Christ calling all the men around him his brothers, fathers, sons... and the women his mothers, daughters, sisters. Perhaps they had missed that bit.

The moment I had been dreading arrived, where the congregation let out and we were forced to greet the man on the way out. My Uncle had intimated as gently as possible that we could say my name was 'Valerie' or even 'Victoria', but when I shook my head he had apologized profusely to the point I could not be angry at him for it. These people would wonder at my name's origins, and it was best not to tell them of it.

I can tell you, oh benevolent pages, that it was my mother's name. The vaguest memories of her are so distant that I often decide they must be invented.

As we walked at a painfully slow pace out the doors and back out into the sunlight we were accosted - well that might be a strong word, but not by much - by the minister. I grinned my most saccharine to conceal my discomfort as my Uncle shook his hand.

"Ah, Mister Lockwood. It's always heartening to see a new resident attending church on the good day, and so unfaltering."

"Thank you! And may I introduce my neice?"

"Good morning." I inverted my head and cleared my throat.

"A neice, you say? I was beginning to think you had already found yourself a bride before moving to these parts." If it had been an attempt at humor, it was ruined by the obvious judgement of his tone and the look in his eyes as he took in my face. "And your name?"

"Lockwood. Lady Valeria Lockwood, sir." I laid my hands at the base of my corset to pull down the white and green frock that was beginning to gather, attempting to seem disinterested.

His forehead was all rolls of flesh. "Interesting name. Italian is it?"

"Aye, but it is quite popular in Poland."

"And is that where you hail from? And your father was a Lord?"

"Yes. But I do not really - "

My uncle laughed to interrupt me as he flipped his top hat back onto his head, shielding his eyes from the sun. "My brother, James has recently passed, leaving his daughter in my care."

"And where did you travel from?"

"France to London... then here."

"Well, we ought to be heading back now. Thank you again." My Uncle graciously shook the man's hand and guided me away.

I cannot for anything remember the minister's name - or perhaps I did not even see the point.

"How is the revolution, Lady Lockwood?" A somewhat rough voice startled both of us, realizing we had not yet escaped. Turning, I could not help the troubled look on my face at the question. The man asking was older, attempting to light his smoking pipe as he spoke. "Forgive me. I am Doctor Kenneth. I could not help overhearing." His eyes were far more forgiving than any I had seen that day aside from my Uncle Jack.

"That is alright." I made a slight curtsy and pushed some hair out of my face that refused to stay in Nelly's tight braids. "The revolution, when I left it, was quite frightening. The aristocracy were still trying to pretend it wasn't happenning of course. Yet, they find themselves surely to be under Napoleon now that the Monarchy has been... But my father, he..."

"Oh, I shouldn't have asked, my dear." He seemed very sincere as he extended his hand.

I lifted my own hand and he took it in both of his, biting down on his pipe and puffing away as he gently tapped the top of my grasped hand. "It is difficult sometimes to live in the country and not be informed. My sensitivity has lapsed over the years." He laughed in a puff of smoke and released me, taking the pipe out of his mouth. His eyes were so sad. "If you are ever feeling ill, I am the man to call for."

"Yes, that is of great concern." Jack seemed pleased the subject had changed, as I realized that many people were lingering around us as if to eavesdrop. "She arrived in quite a state, Doctor. Perhaps it is providence that you spoke to us. Won't you come to the Grange tomorrow at your earliest convenience?"

"Say no more, sir. I shall ride from Gimmerton by sunrise. What are your symptoms, Miss Lockwood?"

Biting back my desire to shout, I took a deep breath, my eyes fluttering. "I feel quite alright, Doctor. The carriage ride and change of climate merely weakened me for a week or so. Besides, with Mister Linton Heathcliff in such a state as he is, surely you -"

"Such a state?" He tapped his pipe out prematurely against his palm to dump its contents out and shoved it in his pocket. "What do you mean?"

"I... I thought he was gravely ill." I looked to my uncle questioningly.

Doctor Kenneth and Uncle Jack shared some look of resentful understanding, and the Doctor shook his head. "Mister Lockwood, I will be at the Grange in the morning." And then he marched away, face full of unspoken thoughts.

"Come, Valeria. Let us go home." Uncle Lockwood wrapped an arm around both of my shoulders and led me towards where Nelly had been waiting for us.

"I thought perhaps we could go into town, Uncle. The rest of my belongings must have arrived by now."

He shook his head too quickly. "No. I have already arranged for them to be brought to us. Besides we did not bring horses. The walk home will be strenuous enough for you."

"Strenuous?" I couldn't help but laugh, pulling a couple of pins out of my hair so that the lower half draped down my shoulders. "Uncle Jack, I have walked many long distances in my life."

"All the more reason for you to rest now." His voice was monotone, his mind somewhere else entirely.

When I saw the look Nelly and he were exchanging I knew to keep quiet. But I shook myself out of his grasp, lifted my dress slightly and began marching accross the bridge towards our home. At first they protested, but when I waved my hand dismissively, they were silent. I wanted to get as far away from them as possible.

My speed surprised even me, and when I reached the end of the bridge I turned to make sure I had not lost them. My ambivalence was overwhelming. The cage I was locked in was not a cruel one, but it was most certainly still a cage.

Uncle and Nelly saw that I had stopped and waited, and they slowed down, saying things quietly to each other as they took their time to catch up. I took the time to turn away towards the open land, away from any people. With a deep sniff I leaned forward, my elbows pressing into the railing. Staring down at the flowing stream, I cursed myself silently for wanting to cry. They were only ever kind to me, but my desire to be myself and to be free was surely showing itself as merely obstinate.

Then something caught my eye. A strange reflection in the water. Was it a woman? I looked up towards the north-west and squinted my eyes. Though the water had shown me a woman in a white gown, there was none to be seen. But far in the distance, a man was a top a horse, staring out in our direction as he passed. When he seemed to see me - or did he? - he slowed down his horse, and turned it into a stop, flipping his head over his shoulder. I could not make out his face aside from a slightly dusky skin. He was by no means dark - in fact I would have called him pale if not for the richness of his palor. A large coat concealed most of his body, perhaps making him look larger than he was. His hair was long and shaggy, let out wild unlike the others in this neighborhood. When I stood up straight to acknowledge him, he turned away in a surly manor and kicked his heels far too roughly at his horse. He rode so fast into the nearest patch of fog that I wondered if I had ever seen him at all.

"Is something the matter my dear?" Nelly's voice made me jump, and I reached out for her forearm in relief. She held me then as Jack passed us solemnly with his walking stick, turning to glance at the both of us.

"I... the fog plays tricks on my eyes, Nelly." She embraced my shoulders and guided me away as I spoke. "Fairytales about places like this must be getting to my head."

"Fairytales?" She brushed the back of my head.

I could not help but flinch. I was not used to any kind of maternal affections. Yet when she began to remove her hand, I reached up to secure it on my shoulder. I was finally beginning to appreciate her tenderness in such a cold place. Servants are not required to be kind, my father often reminded me, and they should be treated with more respect and love than most Lords, Ladies, and even Kings.

"Yes. In many taverns accross Europe, while father played cards or made business transactions, men from the Northern territories and Islands would rant on about how restless spirits are in the cold moors. They spoke to me of little people and sprites!" Ending my recollections with a voice of exasperation, I shook my head and looked at her. "Never did I think I would travel anywhere north of London, let alone live here."

"Do not trouble yourself, dear." Was all she said, and was silent all the way back to the Grange.

She would not comment on what I had only just mentioned. That did not comfort me. To say not to trouble with something does not infer that those things are not true. I shall be reading the rest of the day. My escape into literature has been my saving grace since my arrival.


	5. Sleeping With Ghosts

That day turned to an entire week without a single entry, my dearest indifferent diary. I shall try to recount all that transpired. I suppose a few days went by with nothing at all happening aside from more meals with my uncle, reading and unpacking the rest of my clothing and books with Nelly and the rare walk about the grounds. But one night was filled with such terror, and it seemed to set the rest of the following events in motion somehow.

I remember that night, and how the August damp chill had been replaced with early Septembers bracing cold. I was so happy to have my own dressing gown and my own house slippers to wrap myself in. I had been reading Faust by the fire. At first I had been reading it aloud to Nelly, but the content seemed to disturb her enough that she made excuses to leave my room before I retired to bed.

This was a rarity and I am guilty to say I was glad to be rid of her. I yanked that awful bonnet from my head, letting my hair fall around me again. The amount of time I read is uncertain to me. I only remembered the clock striking eleven and sleep crawling up my spine and into my eyes. The book fell limply from my hands as I drifted, but the sound of it hitting the floor woke me up enough to sit up straight again.

Placing the novel back on the shelves that were meant for spare linens - but had become my personal library. Hugging myself, I decided to take advantage of the fact that I knew the household was sleeping. With the gentlest of steps, I picked up a lighting match and set it in the fire, lighting one of the candles on the mantlepiece. I could not help but stare at some miniatures of a woman's face. Her eyes were so dark. She was certainly beautiful, and there was a certain wildness about her features that made her seem almost inhuman or perhaps simply out of place. Tearing myself away from it I took the candle and began to head for my door.

Slinking about the Grange by nothing but candlelight was somewhat frightening, but I pushed through the fear and made my way towards the drawing room.

By the time I heard the music, it was too late. My Uncle was playing on the piano. I recognized it as Handel. A suite in D Minor. Though I had already entered the room, he did not notice me. The fireplace was blazing and half the candles in the room were still lit. I blew mine out and silently walked to the table which contained the wine decanter. It was half-empty, where I had remembered it being full after dinner.

I smirked and poured myself a small glass. I was very good at making very little noise, and I knew he did not see me, for the music still played. He was moderately talented, which was more than I could have expected. What made the music beautiful was how melancholy he was obviously playing it.

Turning to watch him I made my way to the nearest high-backed chair, just out of his vision and leaned back to drink. It had been some time since I had tasted alcohol, though my father's death had given me the urge to live at the bottom of a bottle as much as possible. At the end of a crescendo, I heard him groan and grab at his own glass, taking down most of it before placing it back down. He reached out to turn some pages as if searching for peace of mind in a sonata.

"Good evening, Uncle." I decided my fun was devious. Watching him like this was very impolite, especially if he was drinking.

"Valeria!" He gasped, and half turned to me, smiling in disbelief at me, taking a few deep breaths. "You must not scare me so!"

"It was not my intention." I sipped at my wine, then placed it on the table next to me. "You know, we have not had one real conversation in the month I have been here. Please forgive my bluntness, but I..." I drifted off, frowning, then grabbed my drink again, no longer sipping at it.

"Do not be sorry, neice." His eyes drifted shut for a second, and he stood. He was still dressed aside from his coat. His vest and blouse seemed ruffled as if he'd been out of sorts for some time. "Your straight-foreward nature reminds me of your father. He got that from our own father, you know." He took another long drink, emptying his glass, then stared at it as if pondering whether he should pour another.

"I only meant that - well, perhaps there are things that need to be said." I tried to choose my words carefully, avoiding eye contact.

"Believe me, I took no pleasure in receiving your inheritance, Valeria."

"No!" I sighed. "That is not what I meant."

"I have already scheduled for our family lawyer from London to visit within the fortnight."

"Please!" I interjected, getting to my feet, making him lift his head to look at me again. "Uncle, money is of very little importance to me. I mean to make something of myself as a tutor of English and music to some families in Europe. Father's money would have been wasted on me. I would have donated much of it and squandered the rest on God knows what."

Jack shook his head. "You are more humble than he ever was." He pursed his lips in guilt. "I mean.. oh, I cannot say anything right." He strode to the wine decanter.

"Humility was not one of my father's virtues, no." Grinning, I stepped towards him, handing over my glass, which he hesitated to accept, but shrugged and filled both of them. "Do not be afraid to speak your mind, Uncle." He turned to hand me mine, and I lifted it. "I may be a stranger to you but we are the only family we have left." The last words were like knives in my throat, and my eyes watered considerably.

His face turned to such a gentle and surprised inflection that I could not help but feel a bit of ice crack off of my heart.

"Then we shall be honest with each other? And not avoid one another any longer?" His voice took on a more paternal tone as we touched glasses.

I gave one enthusiastic nod. "Most certainly."

We took a long drink.

"Then," He scoffed. "I must honestly tell you that I feel very irresponsible by not sending you straight to bed without anymore spirits, neice."

"Oh, I cannot sleep tonight. Surely you can empathize." I turned and sat back down, leaning my head back. "It would be frightful to recount the number of evenings I have spent in my room, looking out the window and seeing the strangest things in the mist."

He was very silent. The warmth between us seemed to be replaced by something else. A chill came over the room, and when I looked, he too seemed to grow cold.

"Perhaps we should put heavier curtains on your windows. Would you like a room on the other side of the house? Not facing North, perhaps?" He spoke distantly.

"Uncle, please tell me what is troubling you." Leaning forward, I tilted my head. "We are to be honest with each other, remember?"

He pursed his lips and ran his hands through his hair on either sides of his temples. "I could not burden you, niece. I know you have been through enough horrors to last any man's lifetime, let alone that of a young girl's. Gamblers, gypsies and other such heathens were your caretakers. Our parents tried to take you, you know, when we all learned of your father's lifestyle."

"And after the death of my mother." That made him go silent. "Yes, I can remember that Christmas. I was seven and we came to London to spend a week with all of you. I heard papa fighting with grandfather that night when you all thought I was sleeping." I took down more wine and added with a kind of objective lilt. "He called mother a whore and threatened to take away father's inheritance. But then my father laughed and told him he could do what he liked, but then he would stop sending anymore money." Before he could say anything, I made sure to finish. "Admittedly, I resented all of you for some time, but we never spoke of it again."

"I thought you might be aware of how your father supported our parents for a time." He smirked. "I learned to make my own way through business just as he did. But I never left home. I never really lived like he did. You know so much, but I would wager you never knew how badly I wished I could run off with the both of you."

"Why couldn't you?"

"Responsibility, I suppose." He chuckled then. I had never seen this side of him before. "I felt as though I needed to stay close to our mother. She had always dreamed of having a home filled with children and grandchildren. Only she had but me. Just me."

"Tell me what is happening at Wuthering Heights." My tone darkened.

He breathed out through his nose and downed yet another glass.

"You can tell me the darkest secrets of our family, but you will not reveal what is happening there?" I implored, standing once again.

"Neice, young Linton has died."

I fell speechless. I had never been able to meet the young man. And poor Catherine, only sixteen and already a widow. Now I understood.

"And I am the worst of men!" He shouted. He never rose his voice. "Oh God, forgive me. I knew he was deathly ill. I knew he was not being treated as he should have been."

"Then why did you not let me go? Why did you not let me speak with Doctor Kenneth?" Trying my best to remain calm, I set down my glass and rose to my feet yet again, bringing my hands together in front of me.

"Master Heathcliff assured me the boy would be fine! He said that Linton was acting fragile from weakness of character and would have to pull through."He put his palm to his forehead. "But I think there was another reason. One for which I will never forgive myself for."

"Uncle..."

"I thought I might love young Catherine. Well, think I still do."

"And does she return your affections?"

"You would not understand, niece. Nelly has told me things that explain the nature of our neighbors. I do not think I would wish Catherine to return those emotions even if she could."

I could see the distress in his eyes and hear the strain in his voice. He looked so forlorn I felt it best to end the conversation, even if my curiosity was piqued beyond expression.

"Alright, Uncle." The clock began to strike midnight. "I am sorry for upsetting you so. My loneliness has gotten to my head, I suppose. I am not used to such quiet and unchanging surroundings. That does not excuse my peering into your intimate thoughts." I finished the second glass of wine, watching my Uncle empty the rest of the decanter into what must have been his tenth. Even his usually perfect posture was beginning to slacken.

"No. It is good to speak of these things. I only hope I can trust your discretion."

"Of course. Anyway, who could I tell?"

"The funeral is tomorrow."

My eyes shut. "Ah, I see."

"I hoped you would attend with me. Nelly wishes not to go, and I will not force her. Yet I can not face Catherine alone. I fear she knows of my affections and spurns me even more for them. Perhaps with you there she will not feel as though I am disrespecting her husband's memory."

"I understand. I still have my clothes from when I was in mourning."

He gazed down at the floor, tilting his head back as little as possible to drink even more.

"Will you be up very much longer? If that is you do not mind me asking. I can fetch one of the servants to-"

"I will be fine. Please, I would very much like to be alone."

There was a long silence before I finally left the room, leaning up against the door after I had closed it. I took many deep breaths before I even began to think to walk back to my room. He began playing again. Beethoven this time.

The chill of the hallways seemed less biting as before with the alcohol in my system. But I only took two steps before I realized I had forgotten my candle. I dared not return, but kept on, my feet barely touching the floor as I almost hopped on my toes towards the staircase. But as I passed the front door, oh how can I begin to describe what awaited me there?

The floor-to-ceiling windows of the parlor where I had to pass shed in so much moonlight I felt I had to look outside. If only I had not looked. That woman was gliding... yes, gliding across the grass. Her hands were limp to her sides. Her dress was torn at the bottom. A spectre if I had ever seen one. The blood rushed out of my head, and my body was prickling all over.

Her head was turned away from me, looking north, and I could hear a sobbing. Only it did not sound like any cry that a human could make. No, this sobbing echoed not only outside, but it pierced the walls. Though she was some distance away from the manor, that sobbing reached out to a point to where I could hear it right in front of me, as well as from a room upstairs.

I dared not move or speak for fear that she might notice me. Why had I stopped so close to that window to look out? Why could I not scream for help?

Her hair flowed about her as though the winds were coming straight from the earth, and her crying only became louder as she reached out towards something unseen.

My fear began to turn to pity. Perhaps she was no ghost? Was the wine effecting my senses?

With much trepidation I placed my hand upon the glass and called out loudly, the echoing sound of lament beginning to resemble thunder in my ears; "Are you alright, madam? Can I help you?"

Then the noise stopped completely as if it had never began. So slowly, the woman turned her head, and my veins were full of ice. She could not be one of the living. I recognized her face immediately. The small portrait in my bedroom.

"Oh, God!" I shrieked, wanting to shield my eyes.

Before I could do so she had turned back around, and lifted her dress to reveal bare feet before she ran upon what seemed like an invisible river into the moors.

Every part of me trembled and I wasted no more time in running back to my room where I knew my window would overlook the property far better than from downstairs. Perhaps I did not realize it until I slammed the bedroom door behind me, but my heart was racing like a tribal drum, and breathing had become a labour in itself.

I nearly tore the drapery aside and pressed myself against the glass, gazing out for some sign of the woman. No one was there.

Tears began streaming down my face. "What do you want from me?" I cried out. "Why must you appear to me and tell me nothing? For pity's sake, madam!" I slammed my fist against the window and cried into the crux of my elbow. Stumbling back into my bed, I slept for what felt like a mere minute before the night terrors overtook me.

Oh, how I miss my dreams.


	6. Us and Them

AN: This one is a bit long. I just couldn't stop.

I believe the next morning consisted only of dressing in my black gown and cape. The dress had been purchased in Paris, so I was required to wear a white blouse underneath to avoid any amount of decolletage. Nelly tried to help me dress but I begged her to take away my breakfast and let me alone. She seemed to understand somehow.

I pinned my own hair up into a high bun, keeping as many waves as possible from tumbling out of my veiled hat. Though it was a funeral of a young man I was to attend, my thoughts remained on my visitation from that spirit.

As I gently let the veil tumble over my face, I was reminded only of my father's funeral in London. Jack could not make it in time as he had just made arrangements to purchase the estate. Their parents were already in the ground. The only people in attendance were some of father's friends and associates. With many different languages, men shook my hand and women pressed me to their bosoms in tears. They all knew my name. I could remember none of theirs.

The ride out towards the Heights was as solemn as would be expected. Nelly had not accompanied us as Uncle had anticipated, which seemed strange to me as she rarely left my side upon his order. Yet the silence seemed far too apropos to impose upon with questions.

The freezing air outside our carriage made me grateful for my thick black rabbit-fur wrap. When my father had given it to me I cried for an entire day, hugging it to me and calling him a murderer. Now I was happy to have it keeping me warm and I said a gentle thanks to the poor animals that had died for this warmth.

"Niece, are you quite alright?" My Uncle held me after aiding me out of the carriage, as I seemed to stumble out onto the damp earth in a daze.

"I got very little sleep. And... death is a concept I have difficulty accepting. If that makes any sense." I tugged my veil even further over my face so that only parts of me could be seen. I did not want him to see how pale I had turned.

"It must be accepted." A foreign voice called to us. We both turned to watch as a girl approach us with wild blond hair, haunting features, yet eyes that would be kind if only she wished them to be.

"Ah. Missus Catherine Heathcliff." My Uncle made sure I was steadied before extending his hand to her and bowing in a gentile kiss to her own ivory hand. "My condolences, of course."

"But of course." She responded coldly, yet her voice shook as she pulled her hand away and approached myself. I felt the same chill from the night before take my blood. Something about her features shook me to the core. "And this must be your niece you speak so highly of. Good morning, my Lady."

"Valeria Lockwood, miss. I am sorry for your loss. And sorry I could not know your husband." I bowed my head rather than curtsied.

"You have been here for two months, have you not?" Her tone was like a the spring of morning, and filled with feigned niceties.

"I made many inquiries as to when I would be allowed to visit the Heights, madam, and was told it would not be appropriate."

Both of our eyes drifted to my Uncle who had grown silent again. He turned away from us and head off towards the ceremony.

"I think I understand." She said, her tone changing almost entirely as she took my arm.

"Do you? I do wish you would enlighten me, then, dear Catherine."

Her laughter caught the attention of a few faces in the distance, but they soon turned away.

"I would not wish understanding of these times on any soul. Especially one as naive to them as you so blissfully are."

She was not at all as I had expected her. Even in her mourning dress she seemed far too disheveled for what I knew to be her station in the neighborhood. Yet this only fascinated me more.

"As I was saying, Miss Lockwood-"

"Please call me Valeria."

"Valeria..." She said my name and her dizzy eyes, blue like the sky overlooking a calm and isolated ocean, yet tremulous like the oncoming storm. "Death is something we must accept. Even if the dead choose not to accept it themselves."

I stopped walking, attempting to pull her close. "What do you mean?"

Letting go of my arm, she tilted her head and squinted, trying to see my eyes through the veil. "You too, then?" It was less of a question, and more of her own realization sinking in. Then her manner changed again, almost courtly. "Thank you for coming, Miss Lockwood. Lady Valeria."

I watched her back as she walked ahead of me. I followed slowly, not only by choice, but because my German black leather-heeled boots seemed to keep sinking into the damp grass and I could not walk any faster. My uncle heard me approaching and took my elbow, watching as Catherine took to the opposite side, near the pastor. It was only then that I could see the bruises upon her neck and the black mark by one eye, tarnishing her otherwise gentle beauty.

"What has happened here, Uncle?" I whispered, looking upon the other few faces that joined us. "Where is the boy's father?"

Jack held me closer. "Thank you for coming." He pulled out his bible, avoiding my questions on purpose. I had grown accustomed to this since my arrival, indeed, but why was our landlord not present to bury his only child?

As they brought out the body, the grave-diggers carried with them a white cloth sack. No coffin to be seen. At the look of the deceased boys' face, I could not help but take in a fright of breath. His face could have been carved into the chapels of Florence. The face of a cherub - even the archangel Michael! Such gentle features. Such lifeless grace. Such a boy's death should have been marked with sorrow and loss.

"Why did you not let me see him? I could have tended to - " I whispered harshly, my knees buckling. "Doctor Kenneth knew nothing of this, did he? God!"

Jack steadied me and held me closer. "Please, Valeria. Do you wish to return to the coach?"

The body was roughly wrapped in the white sack, but the boy's eyes and brows were still visible.

"Poor Linton Heathcliff... I never knew him." I sobbed into my Uncle's shoulder. I could feel him looking around us and I turned my head to see all but four other mourners. Some were not even dressed in black. A wild boy, who couldn't have been older than Catherine or myself looked on us in an almost resentful fascination. The other two were aging servants, as I could tell my their demeanor and dress. And both of them stood behind Catherine as if they were more like jailers than servants.

"His father should be here." As they tossed the limp corpse deep into the ground, I could only imagine my own body being so disgracefully thrown about, and my own father not present. I remembered the many tears of mourners on my father's casket at his own funeral - the women who nearly threw themselves at his lifeless body - his lovers and friends. There was no true remorse or love in this place as there was then. I could not comprehend it.

Before the pastor could begin reading his empty elegy I tore away from my Uncle. At first he reached out for me, but he seemed to think I was returning to the carriage as promised. I ran such a distance away, my black french silk getting torn amongst the thorny locks of heather that I passed.

"Madam, I cannot..." The coachman put away his flask and waved his hand about. "What are you doing?"

Before he could step down off the carriage on his old and spidery legs, I had already unhitched one of the four horses. Three would be enough to get my Uncle back to his sanctuary - I would not join him.

Ripping my dress, I mounted the horse with speed and took hold of its leads. I made a round turn and took the whip from our coachman's hands, as he was too bewildered to understand what was happening. "I shall return this to you... soon."

Then before I could hesitate that opalescent sky, I rode out northwards, leaning forward and guiding my horse far past the gates in my attempt to avoid detection.

In my hurry, I had not really taken in the real effect of the mist. I stopped to turn to squint at the gathering of the funeral - already vague and ghostly silhouettes.

"No! Valeria... What in heaven's name are you doing?" I heard Jack's voice call for me.

There was an instant where I must have considered returning, but as I looked out across the moors to the other side, I smelled the freedom so very close at hand. Nearly a month had I been locked up in that house, and I could not resist. Not a creature such as me, accustomed to travel. And not such a soul determined for answers.

"Come, there is a patch of sunshine out there. Let us hunt it. No dogs this time, my friend." I pet down the length of my horse's shoulder, then gave him two gentle clicks with my heels to his sides before our flight through the land began.

My heart skipped with every crag he jumped and I gasped with every cliff I had to swiftly direct him around to avoid. Soon the landscape became clear and it was even more fantastical than I could have imagined. Not a building in site - not a man-made structure to be seen. I could not see the Heights as I had hoped. I was so frightened, but the fear only fueled my wanderlust and righteous anger. I had no idea whether I was heading in the right direction or not, but was certain that nothing but my conviction would carry my horse and I to our destination.

Tears finally spilled down my face, as if in their own singular knowledge that they could no longer be seen or remarked upon. It was the first true tears I had felt since the loss of the only man I had ever loved. To cry was to be weak, but out here in the unspeaking lands, I could not be judged. They stung my cheeks like hot acid in contrast to the freezing wind that pierced my skin as I rode as hard as I could manage. They were soon joined by rain, thunder cracking the sky again.

Then the figure of a woman appearing in front of me caused me to scream and pull so hard back on my horse that he bucked me off and I tumbled into the ground. In my shock, all I could see was her face and how she'd reached for me as if she wanted to pierce right through my chest.

I heard the horse whine and the sound of his hooves falling away from me only further sealed my fate. I trembled as I rose to my feet and my left foot failed me, causing me to fall once again, sitting within a glass-like cage of mist. The rain grew colder. I cried out and looked about me, seeing only a tree. With all of my strength I pushed passed my pain and drug my self to lean against its trunk.

The woman was still there - the spectre outside the Grange the night before.

"What is the matter? Please, let me help you!" I called out, using the trunk to pull myself up as much as possible. That horrible sobbing only filled the air again as her hair - it could have been my own hair by its shade - tossed about in the moorish winds.

Then the sobbing began to form a name - "Heathcliff! Oh, let me in, my love! Heathcliff! Heathcliff! I must come home! How can I come home?" Her arms flailed about her until she was bent over, her grey hands grasping at the ground, fingernails digging into the earth.

Falling back to the ground, I covered my ears. Her wails were like those of the banshees I had heard of. So that was what she must have been. Had she come to claim us all?

"No. No. Go away. Go away." I mumbled under my breath.

"Heathcliff!" She screamed once more, and then the voice was gone. That unearthly cry had disappeared again in that unnatural way. The echoes of her tumbled and span out of existence.

Opening my eyes, and letting my hands down around me I looked for any sign of life - or death - but there was none. My horse had abandoned me to the moors and merciless crags of this land.

But then the sound of galloping came towards me. My heart began to lift, but it sank once more as the silhouette became more clear. It was the man again. The man I had seen outside the church. Another spirit to torment me. Perhaps she was the banshee and he was death himself.

I wept silently, my eyes firmly shut now. I wanted to see no more.

"Speak!" A man's voice, far closer than I could have expected pierced the mist. "Who are you, what are you doing on my land?" He demanded again.

This could be no spectre... unless this was indeed the land of the dead. I did not answer, only turned my head away and attempted to crawl to the other side of the tree, my hands digging around and reaching up for a sanctuary I knew not to exist.

"My God... is it you, Cathy? Cathy... Cathy have you returned?"

The man's voice had turned from that demanding roughness to a tearful kind of begging. Could it have been joy or sorrow?

"Leave me be!" I sobbed, but it was more of a whisper. I pulled my veil closer around my face again, and opened my eyes to see if anything was behind that tree. Nothing but more mist and knotty heather that continued to rip at my frock.

"Are you the devil come to pay me in kind, then?" The fierceness had returned to him. "I heard a voice calling my name. Have you come to punish me?" He too seemed to begin to cry but would not allow himself to, and I heard heavy footsteps approaching me.

"Master Heathcliff?" The revelation hit me like a spade to the chest and I flipped around on my back, wincing at the pain in my ankle that seemed to swell in my boot.

"Ah." He stopped and stared at me. I could not tell if he was angry or disappointed. Then he sneered and began to approach me.

I attempted to scatter away on my back, grass stains covering my gloves. "Do not touch me!" I screamed. "You are the devil here, sir!"

The assertion in my voice seemed to stop him. His features became more clear. "And you are not the first to make such a conviction young miss Lockwood."

"So you know who I am? And now I know you. You are our landlord. My uncle spoke so highly of you, sir. Yet you do not attend your own son's burial. Have you no shame?" I rambled, doing my best not to look him anymore.

"Shame?" He let the word spill around his mouth, his eyes rolling slightly to the sky as he grinned a cheshire grin. "Oh, such pretty words you use for a city slut. You are in my world, my land now, child, and you will ask no more questions!"

"A city sl- ... Sir, you have no right! You know nothing of me!"

"Your Uncle..." He tilted his head, those burning dark eyes boring into me, a strain of wild dark hair covering one of them. "He described you as," He laughed sourly. "Well-traveled. A sweet way to describe a shameful little slut of Europe in his home."

What was once ice in my veins turned to flame. "Aye, sir, I have traveled much. And my father taught me well in how to deal with men and protect myself. Especially with the likes of you! If you are insinuating..."

"You will speak no more!" He shouted a demon's curse, making me flinch, which seemed to bring him pleasure. "Neither of us shall make any more assumptions upon the other, then? And you will obey if you wish to keep your pretty skin as white as it is. The French aristocrats and the opulent brothels for babysitters have surely kept you untarnished till now." A threat if I'd ever heard one.

"What happened to not making assumptions?" I hissed.

"Keep. Your mouth. Shut. Stupid wench."

Such madness filled his eyes, yet I was less afraid than I knew I should have been. Perhaps it was because only moments ago he had thought I myself was a ghost or a devil sent to take him. We would have been at an even advantage if only my horse had not been frightened off by that banshee and cast me off in such a state. I clenched the whip in my hand tightly, grimacing and attempting to be ready to strike, glad I had not lost it in my fall.

"Now, what should I do with you, eh?" He came closer.

"I saw her too." I conjectured, making him stop his assault. I pulled further away. Though I could not stand, I blanced myself on one hand and made my whip cut the air with the other in a violent hiss. "I heard her calling your name." Even through my veil my eyes pierced his soul. "But it was not your son's widow as you seem to think... It wasn't young Catherine. The woman. Her hair was different, it was-"

He lifted his gloved hand stiffly, such a sneer across his face that I finally decided to remain silent for the time being. "I know it was not my so-called daughter in law. Do not speak of what you know nothing of."

Out on the wild moors he could have done what he wished with me, and whatever I was about to say was not welcome. My avarice could be tamed for a time.

"I will take you to my home, and I will send for your Uncle by evening's fall. My two servants are all at the funeral service and they are all no doubt searching for you under your Uncle's command. They shall be searching for some time as I have no way of contacting them and you must be set to rest in some form straight away. Have you a bump on your head?" His avarice in turn seemed to falter, and rather than rushing towards me and accosting me, he stepped slowly towards me, a gait in his stance as he offered me his hand.

"May we not go to the Grange, sir?" I asked with a tremble, my fingers indeed finding a knot on the back of my skull, sending a course of pain through my entire body as I touched it.

"That is the last place they would look for you. Lockwood has made it quite clear to me these many weeks that he had meant to keep you isolated at the Grange as long as possible." His voice turned distant, eyes glazing over as if in reverie - as if similar words had been spoken before. Then those haunted eyes turned on me again. "Were you not running away?"

I said nothing. My reasons for dashing off into the wilderness had seemed so clear before, but now they were scattered. I mumbled weakly. "Why were you not at your son's funeral?" Perhaps if I repeated the question like a chant it would finally be answered.

He then took the liberty to pace towards me so that he stood directly over me, hand still outstretched. I looked up into his face. The face of a Prince or a Gypsy King. The lines in his forehead spoke of a troubled soul. The dark hair had begun to grey at the temples. His dark coat swayed around his muddied riding boots.

Perhaps my veil had concealed how I was looking at him, for he turned to look behind him as if I was staring at something far away.

"Very well." He sighed and reached down, tearing my riding whip from my grip and grabbing me by the waste, tossing me effortlessly over his shoulder.

"Sir! I demand you release me!" I growled and flailed, though I knew I could not escape his impossible strength.

He put me on his horse and pinned me there with his hands on my own, staring up at me with more humor than anything else, laughing up at the sky as if to congratulate the Gods on their sense of humor. "And where will you go, lass?" His voice went high-pitched and incredulous, mocking me and my situation. "You will be safely in your other captor's arms before the night is through. Do not fear..." His eyes spoke of nothing but something to fear, indeed.

When I stopped my struggling, he let go of my hands. I folded my arms accross my chest and waited for him to mount. He did, then turned his head and looked at me again to laugh more. "You'll surely take a fall again if you sit like that... Milady." He said the word with such sarcasm that I instantly understood his hate for anyone with a title. It was nothing new to me.

He forcefully reached behind him and wrapped my arms around his waist. I shook tremendously, but found my aching head resting against his back. I felt him kick that poor horse in the sides and winced in empathy for the pain as we rode. This Heathcliff could have raced the wind if he so wished. I had not seen such a rider since my childhood. Though I tried not to open my eyes, I could not help but see how deftly he avoided the perilous landscape.

I must have fallen asleep on the ride, for it seemed to only take moments. When I came to, he was pulling me off of his horse and carrying me across both of his arms. Remembering what was happening I struggled again, lifting my head up to look at him. "Let me... let me be... do not... I can...do not carry me... where..."

But the words would not come to me. We were already inside the Heights. I saw him look down at me in a look I could not decipher. Dogs began to follow us, but with a clicking sound of his tongue he sent them away, whining. We stared at each other for a time which would have seemed an expressionless exchange to anyone else. But he and I knew we were not like the others somehow.

His expression returned to a sneer and he looked away.

My fate was in his hands for the time, but I knew it could not be long before Uncle Lockwood discovered where I must have gone. But did I wish him to take me back? Instead of staring at my captor's face I instead tried to look around me. My vision blurred, but I could see that the Heights was almost opposite to the Grange. There were no white walls or sweet paintings of birds or pretty roses outside - no music boxes or statues imported from Greece. This was a dark and barren home. Yet it felt powerful. It felt as though it had always been there, and would always be. Something eternal.

Heathcliff kicked open a door to a room with a fireplace that was dying. He set me down in a chair and I bit back a scream as my ankle touched the floor. Sensing my distress, he scornfully dragged a stool accross the room towards me.

I reached forward and pulled the stool closer so that I could prop my one foot up on to it.

The silence was as thick as this man's skin. He stoked the fire and added wood to it, the flames beginning to rise and light up his face.

"I fear I can not offer you tea or coffee this morning, Lady Lockwood." He growled as he stood in front of the fire, stoking it roughly to make it crackle. "But there is some wine next to you if you care to for some pain relief."

I felt the heat reach me, and I removed my fur wrap, frowning at how ruined it had become. Then I thought of the black rabbits who were skinned for it and tossed it to the floor. I felt like a rabbit or some form of game in this man's presence. Indeed, I imagined he had skinned many prey in his time.

I could not help but watch him as I poured myself some very dark domestic wine, knowing it could not have even been lunchtime, yet but tossing propriety firmly to the side of my mind.

He struck such an intimidating figure in front of firelight that I could not take my eyes off of him. Before I could turn away, he had slowly shifted to look at me and he caught my gaze. He threw the poker down to the stone floor, causing me to jump and I cast my eyes away. But it was too late. He marched towards me, and as I attempted to disappear into the back of the chair, he lifted off my veil with a fingertip, setting it on my hat.

"Well? Look at me, child. Is that not what you wanted?" It could have sounded playful if not for the constant resentment in him. "What is it that you see?"

Though my head was turned away, I opened my eyes and looked at him from the side, breathing heavily, my corset feeling more tight than it ever had. He took the wine from my hand, then pulled off his riding gloves, tossing them near my wrap. With his bare hand he grasped my chin and made me look up at him.

He almost looked confused then, staring down at me. The expression in his eyes could not have been more mysterious.

"Your eyes are grey." He knelt so that our faces were nearly on an even level. "I have been places where they would burn or hang you for such eyes as yours."

"They change, sir. They reflect." I tried to speak clearly. "Like my mother's, sometimes they are blue or green. Only the sky here is so grey, my eyes have little to show for themselves. There is nothing here to reflect off of but the thick clouds that overhang us."

"Even worse for you, then. I would avoid the America's, Lady. Some reverend would get his hands on you and see you taken to the gallows. Or if you confessed to being a child of Satan they would burn you." And he let go of my face, removing his coat and pulling out some spare parchment from beneath a desk. "I will write to your Uncle... and the doctor."

"Thank you." I took up the wine again and removed my hat, letting loose my hair and taking the sickly sweet wine in one swallow. The atmosphere was so dreary, my nerves so startled and my body so pained that I intended on getting legitimately drunk for the first time in my life.

"So..." He pushed his hands into his faded red waistcoat as he finished the letter and began a slow gait about the room. "Your Uncle, he did not inherit your father's title?"

I poured more of the thick wine with a grimace, finding it hard to lift myself enough to reach it. My hand trembled, but I managed. "The politics of my family is something my father protected me from, sir. If it please you, there is no need to call me 'Lady'."

"Then, Miss Lockwood, surely the reason your Uncle has kept you captive from the rest of the neighborhood is because he intends to marry you and retain that title himself."

Only then did my hand slip, and I spilled a bit of spirits on the ground.

"You cannot be serious!" I shouted as he rushed forward and steadied my hands to place the objects firmly back on the table.

"Oh, but I am, Miss Lockwood. It is not unheard of for an Uncle to wed his niece."

"You are speaking of what you know nothing of now, sir!" I wrenched my hands away from his and took up my glass to drink, deciding to entertain his insulting nature no longer.

His rough laughter as he stood in front of me made my cheeks burn. Or was it the wine?

"Perhaps you intend on waiting for your Uncle's health to deteriorate so you may travel and find some bloated Duke or Count to seduce with your over-educated and pompous femininity?" He pressed on in that same facetious lilt as if telling a joke only he knew the ending to. "Come come, tell me all about it. You cannot be discovered here. I am as silent as the grave."

Diverting my eyes, I drank on and lowered my glass only to grit my teeth.

"Just as I thought. Your type is not unknown to me, Milady. I too have traveled. Perhaps I was not classically educated or introduced to Queens and Knights as you have been, but I do know the ways of the world beyond the country." He then snatched my drink from me and finished it off himself. With a sway he chucked the thing into the fireplace, the crystal shattering against the stone. "Why did you ride out here, you wicked slut?"

Though in shock, I kept my silence. When I looked up he was bearing down at me with those eyes. His face may have been placid, but his eyes spoke of hindered rage.

"Idiot girl, I will loosen your tongue if I must! Your silver eyes are telling me you have many pretty words for me. Do you fear me?"

I leaned back into the chair, placing one hand slowly on either arm of it, glaring up at him with indignation.

"No... no you do not fear me, do you?" His teeth showed then. "It is so rare that I meet any who do not that I cannot say whether I am pleased, or rather determined to make it so. You are lucky that Mister Lockwood pays me more rent than the Grange should be worth. I would hate to lose such a dedicated and worthy tenant."

Without warning he was leaning over me, his hands gripping down on my forearms. The pain rushed through me but it was nothing compared to the ferocity of his face so close to mine.

"Ah, bless." He sneered. "Could those be tears I see? Will they be water or silver I wonder?"

"I rode here... because... " I choked the words out.

"Good, there's a start." His grip tightened and I knew there would be bruises. "Speak." He whispered, nodding slowly, his breath grazing across my face.

"It is because I could not understand why young Linton's father was not in attendance!" I blurted out in a strained voice that did not sound like my own. "And because part of me wished to get lost and find myself in another place! A place not filled with such secrets and hostility, sir! I do not understand what has happened here, but I am compelled to know... Why does that woman visit me? Why does she seek me out? Why does Cathy seek you out?" Though the tears did not come, my body convulsed as I took in a sharp sniff of air through my nose. "There, are you satisfied?"

His grip loosened and his wicked grin disappeared, but he did not lessen the distance between us.

"Satisfied?" He repeated the word so quietly it hardly left his throat. "No, I am not. But perhaps you are not the wicked one."

I opened my mouth to speak, but then I felt his lips touch mine. I began to gasp and struggle, but as he claimed my mouth, I did not scream as I intended to, but found myself lost in the stolen kiss. His hands were no longer pressing my arms down, but touching the sides of my face with such gentility that my own hands found their way into his mess of dark hair.

All the pain had deserted my body. He broke the kiss and knelt before me, his face pressed against my cheek as my arms wrapped around his neck. We embraced in that room silently, and I could only imagine that he was as in much a daze as myself. There was no telling how much time had passed before he broke away from me.

"Say nothing." He avoided my eyes again, looking wildly about the room with guilt. "Rest here... Forgive me. Oh..." He began to buckle inward as if in pain. "Oh, God, forgive me."

The pain returned.

My head swelled and my leg twitched in the excruciating pain resonating from my ankle. But his lips seemed to leave a phantom warmth upon my lips. I lifted my hand to them and tried to breathe. He had indeed shaved at least within the last few days, for his stubble had left my cheeks tingling. As much as I tried I could not account for what had only just happened.

"This country will make me a drunkard yet." Grateful that there was an unbroken chalice within my reach - a fine piece made of silver, but tarnished and uncared for - I helped myself to the rest of the inebriates.

"Perhaps you are a witch." He fell into a nearby seat, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Do not protest, I am only jesting."

When I dared another glance he was staring at me again. I pulled myself up to sit more upright, unable to conceal a whine of discomfort.

"Try not to move." His hands were in a temple over his chest now. His voice hinted at ambivalence, but his constant stare drove me into a maddening sense of wonder. "Try not to speak." He added ominously in that same driven whisper that sent chills through me. "The services will soon be over and the other inhabitants of this place shall return. Joseph will send for the doctor in possession of my letter. Lockwood will not be far behind."

Hiding most of my face behind that chalice I decided to stare back.

"Your silence is as maddening as your words." He sniffed.

Swallowing deeply, I furrowed my brows at him. "Then why do you stay and look at me in such a way?"

"You remind me of someone." For the first time he seemed sincere. "And I cannot decide if it pleases or disturbs me. Perhaps it is both. You seem like a soul who can keep many secrets if you so chose. Few folk can say that for themselves in these parts."

My nose and mouth twitched. "I think I can walk... or ride home if that would be easier. Or I could retire to a room where I would not impose upon you."

His grin returned. "So you do fear me."

"That is not what I mean." I put the chalice down, and waveringly attempted to leave my seat and stand. All of me wanted to howl in the pain, but I could have pushed past it. It was only when my vision began to go black that I stopped moving, only half standing.

The next moment I opened my eyes, Heathcliff was behind me, holding me still. My hair had fallen out of its fastenings, and he was pushing wet locks of it away from my face. The storm had increased outside. Feeling him so close to me warmed my body.

"How long have I been standing here?" I whispered.

"An hour at most. Try not to speak, remember? And do not move." He responded as if he were talking to an old friend. "Place your arms round my neck."

I did so without hesitation and he curved one arm beneath my legs, carrying me into the hallway. I stared up at him when my eyes were not shutting of their own accord. Soon we were in a bedroom and he had laid me across the bed, my limbs all scattered about like a broken doll as he shut the curtains. With a few motions he had my head upon a pillow and a quilt strewn over me.

Again time must have gone by, for the next vision I had was of him sitting on the side of the bed.

"Mister Heathcliff, sir." I spoke, which made him jerk his head around. That told me I must have been sleeping and he did not expect to hear my voice.

"Joseph has sent for Kenneth. Zillah is cooking you a soup now." He stood slowly, still staring in that unfaltering gaze.

"And my Uncle?"

"He has been searching for you in his carriage. He rode far past Gimmerton to ask if any had seen you." He stretched his neck to the side, looking on me with only vague condescension. "No doubt the good doctor will find him and bring him to save you from this place. The storm is bad enough that it may take till morning, but they will send a letter back with Joseph if that is the case."

"What happened downstairs between us, sir?"

"A dream, Milady. Only a dream."

He had removed his waistcoat and was donned only in a white undershirt and the same riding pants and boots he had found me in.

"And am I still dreaming?" I trembled and reached up to the fastenings of my dress. Thunder filled the room. "It is difficult to breathe in this."

"Do not dare to lose your honor on me." He shook his head at my actions. "No woman has done so and met a kind end."

His words then betrayed him as he sat on the bed next to me again and aided me in untying the knots in my blouse and pulling it out from under the funeral gown to reveal the skin of my chest. His fingers traced down the front black lacing and silk, though his eyes never left mine. It was as if he was searching for something inside of me.

"Then, by all means, sir," I took his hand in mine and pushed it away as timidly as possible. "Allow me to wake up."

He leaned forward, and though I expected another kiss, he instead reached for a pillow beside me, then pulled back and lifted my injured leg to rest it upon the cushion.

"Zillah the housekeeper, as I said, is making a broth for you. She will aid you out of your fastenings. You must breathe, after all."

When he tore his gaze from me he acted as though it was like ripping a fabric of most delicate and rare findings. He made his way towards the door and I tried my best to struggle into sitting again. "I swear I will tell no one, sir. There is nothing to tell."

He paused, staring at the ground, then grimaced. "Yes. Nothing at all." And then he was gone.

Falling back onto the bed, I cried out in a broken sigh. My hand was on my chest, feeling my heart pacing at a most frightening rate. For what seemed like an eternity I phased in and out of sleep. That man had both mesmerized and terrified me beyond expression.

At one point I awoke to find that a haggard woman was taking off my frock and corset in a cold and rough manner and I yearned for Nelly as she handled me into a sleeping gown. At least the fire had been started in the room, for I could feel that deathly chill creeping through the windows.

"Yer broth, child. And bread. The Doctor is nearly here." I did not respond to her but gazed outside at the darkening sky and the unfaltering rain.

When she left I tried to take down some of the broth of unknown origin, but found its salt and richness gagging me. Instead I reached for more wine, hoping it would allow me to sleep forever. What had transpired in that estate refused to make sense in my mind, so it was my mind that needed to quiet.

Then I heard voices outside the door. I recognized Doctor Kenneth's, but he sounded fiercely angry. Heathcliff's voice responded in such a monotone way that it seemed to only enrage the doctor. Indeed, the door flew open and Kenneth entered, wiping sweat and rain from his face with a handkerchief, the other hand gripping a medical box. I glanced outside the door only to see Heathcliff walking away in that gait that had become familiar to me.

"What in Heaven's name...?" The Doctor grumbled, looking at me quite disapprovingly. "Oh, never mind. Your Uncle is in hysterics, young Valeria. He has torn his way up and down, east and west of the countryside searching for you!" He said all this while he opened the kit and removed some wrappings. "May I see your leg?" He asked gruffly, motioning at the bruised and dirty appendage.

"Yes." I answered simply.

After a great deal of poking and prodding, as well as the innumerable times he shook his head in frustration, he finally took to the business of rinsing and wrapping my foot and up to the greater part of my calf.

"And what of your head?" He twisted up his mouth and motioned with both hands for me to lean forward.

I did so, wincing, but not crying out. "I felt a bump on the back of it. It feels as though it has grown larger."

His hands felt about it, making my head hurt even more. He made many sounds that further showed his impatience and disappointment. "I have some laudanum if you desire it. But other than that all you can do is rest and hope that your state improves. You do not seem to have a fever." He pressed my head back and inspected my face, his weathered hands pressing about my face. "I'd say you were lucky that Master Heathcliff found you, but I am afraid that means I must prescribe you remain here at the Heights for at least two weeks." He seemed more concerned about my whereabouts than my physical state as he motioned that I could rest back again.

"I see." I bit my bottom lip and stared outside yet again.

"Young lady, are you not at all remiss of your actions?"

"Oh yes." I turned to look at him. "I am just... very tired and out of sorts, Doctor. It has been such a strange day. I do not think I understand the way things are here."

"Your Uncle was right. You should have been kept at home for some time to adjust to this climate. If you did not speak so well and respond so logically I would say you were suffering from dementia and summon the bailiff!"

"Doctor, please, I..."

"No, no, no." He grumbled some more and pulled out a tincture of laudanum, placing it on the same table with my cold soup and wine decanter. "You are not for the mad house, my Lady. But I will insist that Master Heathcliff allow Nelly to come stay with you while you are here. You may not feel it yet, but you will be in much pain in the following weeks while you heal. And if only I thought it safe I would demand a coach take you straight to the Grange. This is no place to get well, I assure you."

"I would ask you what you mean, but no one seems to like to answer questions since I arrived." I took up the bottle and gazed at it thoughtfully. My father had often taken such a substance, but I could not remember him being injured during the time.

"Many sad deaths have occurred here. And the people left behind are most wounded by it." He said firmly, taking the tincture back and carefully dropping some of the fluid into my wine. "Be careful with this as well, miss. No more than four drops every few hours, understand?"

"Yes, sir." I accepted the drink and swished it around a few times before sipping.

"No, no, drink the entire thing." He waved his hand encouragingly. "You will not want to wake up tomorrow without that in your system, believe me."

Doing so, I coughed a little and he took the cup from me, putting it down on the table along with the tincture. "You might experience some strange dreams, which is why I will have Nelly here as soon as is possible. Now, I have another patient I must attend to." He looked down at me with that sadness and reprove. "Try to take care of yourself till then, Lady Lockwood."

"Thank you, Doctor." I spoke distantly, turning my head away and staring at the walls again.

As he prepared to leave, grumbling still, he ran into a lad that had come in. "Hareton, what are you doing here?"

I tried to look at them, but my vision failed me again. A young man in the same manner of rustic dress stood with the Doctor. I had not heard him enter.

"Heathcliff sent me t' tell ya that Lockwood's carriage turned over on th' way back from Gimmerton. He's unhurt but he won't be makin' it till some time tommorah."

"I see." They both turned to look at me, and I turned away in response.

"Come walk me to the door and we shall speak. Let us allow Lady Valeria to rest."

"Aye..." The boy sounded confused, but agreed and led the Doctor away.

As soon as the door was shut I moaned and pulled the quilt tightly over me. A strange feeling was beginning to overcome me. A kind of vibration that tingled from my toes all the way up my back and into my head. If it was pleasant, I did not know for long, for I fell asleep almost instantly, trying not to hear the hushed voices outside the door.


End file.
